


First and Last

by Eyvaera



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, UKUS, USUK - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyvaera/pseuds/Eyvaera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the #2014usuksecretsanta on tumblr. Uploaded here as well to provide a better place to read it than my blog.</p>
<p>For aluox's prompt:</p>
<p>“UKUS with Vampire!Arthur luring/defeating Alfred and feeding from him. Alfred is either a Vampire Hunter or a Priest.<br/>BONUS: Bloodplay.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	First and Last

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I feel that my formatting has been upended. Even so, I beta'd this myself, so any mistakes are mine alone.
> 
> Repeating my notes to aluox from my tumblr upload:
> 
> "I tried to include the bonus, at least in part, although you might have had something more intense in mind. I hope it’s close to what you wanted in any case; I loved this prompt and I had originally intended to have Alfred as a Priest, but what follows is the idea I ended up going with. I also picture the era as set either during the last few decades, or modern times – I deliberately left it vague, so it can be whichever you prefer.  
> I hope you enjoy it, and Merry Christmas~"

* * *

 

                As one of the younger members of a family that prided itself on generations of blood-bound relatives, the experience and shared knowledge of which – specific to their ‘family business’ -- being the metaphorical glue that kept them together in a tight-knit circle, Alfred felt quite the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. There were family associates, of course, partners in their ventures; but the core duty and honour of the task they were bestowed with was passed down as a legacy of their forefathers. It was a heavy responsibility, a weight upon every shoulder – and sometimes it felt to Alfred that his was stronger than some, for he was the son of a pair of very successful vampire hunters. Some in their family may not ever meet one of _their_ kind, or would never manage to fell one. But Alfred’s parents were a successful duo; his mother especially, for she had been born into this, and his father had joined through marriage. The power of the name “Jones” was, in certain circles, one to heed, even now. Proving himself had never seemed like less of a choice.

                His cousin, Matthew, could never truly understand. He felt more like a brother to Alfred, for his parents had taken him in after his own were slaughtered in a failed hunt. Matthew had never spoken much about it, but nor had he expressed much interest in fieldwork afterwards. He preferred to catalogue sightings, old history and lore – an archivist of their extended family, in a way. However, that didn’t stop his parents from insisting they travel together on some of Alfred’s early excursions. Still learning, he needed someone to regulate his enthusiasm with sense, or so his mother claimed. Alfred sometimes wondered whether they simply wanted a report back on his progress, although the accusation was unfair, at least on Matthew’s character.

                Of late, Alfred’s skills had been improving, and he would consider himself above competent when it came to tracking, or the practise battles he would simulate with relatives. He was still young, of course – nineteen, going on twenty – and had never actually met a ‘living’ vampire, and especially one of any power, so in that sense his skills were still untested. No-one expected him to be an expert yet, but neither would they let him rely on them. In this way, his excursions with Matthew became more frequent, and it was on one of these, mere days before they were due to return home, that things changed.

 

                At first, they only meant to pass through the old town, but a stop for petrol brought a certain poster to Matthew’s attention, and then to Alfred’s. It was a community notice, warning about disappearances in the area. A handful of people had vanished quite suddenly across the course of a couple of months, with only two returning. Both of them had strange marks upon their bodies, clothes spotted with their own blood, and no memory of what had occurred. A shared look between his cousin and himself had all but confirmed it, and they’d called in to let their family know what was going on. Soon after, they’d taken lodgings and settled into investigating; questioning the townsfolk about what had happened, and looking for signs of what was surely vampire activity. A few days of this passed and their efforts had largely been fruitless. It seemed possible that the vampire had moved on, and Matthew was almost assured of it.

                “They’re gone,” he insisted, looking up from the makeshift desk in their room. “We should run this one up to experience. The Family will know what to do.”

                “No. I know they’re still here, Matt. Just a few more days, a week maybe—“

                “Alfred, we’ve exhausted almost all the avenues. The trail has gone cold. The last disappearance was a couple of weeks ago, and by the pattern of disappearances, we’ve gone past when the next should occur.”

                Alfred huffed in impatience. “I _know_ they’re here. It’s like an instinct; I can sense it.” He received an eye-roll for his trouble, and a wave of Matthew’s hand.

                “Fine, we’ll take another look around.”

                “I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself,” Alfred muttered, cutting off Matthew’s protests with an overly-wide grin that he didn’t quite feel. He couldn’t let this go – this was his chance, and even if he didn’t get to confront the vampire directly, at least he could find out where it was. So he shook his head and patted his friend’s shoulder.

“I’ll be back before dark, but don’t wait up.”

               

               

                It didn’t take long for Alfred to make another sweep of the town. It wasn’t very large, and had a sleepy, uninteresting vibe to it – were it not for the disappearances, he wouldn’t have paid it much heed. Instead, he is attentive, briefly re-visiting areas they had previously thought could be suspicious, before deciding to venture out of the town a ways too. The surrounding area is dense with trees, intermitted with faint man-made trails. For a better view, and a touch of exploration, Alfred decides to head up the hillside, which by the townspeople’s own admission has barely been searched – according to them, it’s hard to traverse the overgrown paths and thick vegetation. Some also admitted that even excluding that detail, they don’t get very far before they felt intensely dissuaded from carrying on, as if through a wave of nonsensical thought they decide that there’s absolutely no point going up any further. Alfred could not help but find this suspicious, paranoia or not -- and so despite the warnings, he chose to make the ascent anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

                It was a derelict, Alfred decided, staring up at the worn, seemingly abandoned house in front of him. He’d trekked for hours, following indistinct trails, faint prints and glimpses of a building through the trees as he got higher. Its wooden exterior was close to being claimed back by the hillside it was situated upon, its gardens so overgrown and dense with foliage that it was somewhat camouflaged. Nevertheless, Alfred had found it, though it had taken far longer than he’d anticipated. The way had been hard-going, and although the sun had been high when he’d set out, it was now lowering – dusk was fast approaching, and with it danger, for Alfred would bet anything that _this_ is where the vampire had been hiding… or still was.

                He balls his hands into fists out of frustration – he’s so close, and yet the sun denies him the satisfaction of ending this tirade now. He clenches his jaw and decides to make a perimeter sweep at least, trudging around the building as nettles and thorned bushes tug at his clothes. For its rundown state, the building still seems structurally stable, and to some extent secure. A lot of the windows are still in place, and the back door seems stuck shut. As he reaches the front again, however, Alfred notices that the door is ever so slightly ajar. He pauses on the threshold, lingering.

                Sense has been drummed into him by his family and Matthew alike – sense that tells him that entering this building alone, with his burgeoning expertise, and at this time of day is suicidal; _if_ , that is, the vampire is still here. Alfred is _certain_ that it has to have been, at some point. Either way, it’s a bad choice. Leave it sleeping undisturbed in its coffin when presented with this golden opportunity and he’d be too cautious, useless as a hunter of vampires. Go in and get caught unawares and he’d be dead. Cursing internally, Alfred turns to leave, trudging down the steps – until he hears a noise. It’s faint… coming from inside the house. After a moment he recognises it -- a human voice, calling out for help. He freezes, listening to pained, desperate cries. Can he ignore _this?_ It could be a trap, yes, but if it’s not, on the other hand, he’s leaving someone to die, and likely than not they’re one of the missing townspeople. A glance at the sky reveals that he has mere minutes before the sun dips down entirely. He should leave immediately, but…

                … The next thing he knows, he’s pushing open the front door. It creaks ominously, and Alfred winces. _Just his luck._ He keeps his hand on his holster – though it doesn’t contain a gun; such a thing would be next to useless on a vampire – and edges into the house. He’s about to step past a door which is falling off its hinges, when he pauses instead. The smell of iron is strong enough to leave a tang in the air that he can almost taste. Cautiously, he peers around what remains of the door and inside the room. Blood.

                It’s everywhere, coating the floor in thick streaks, flecked across the walls in unambitious painting. He almost gags on the raw scent as he slips into the room. It’s disgusting, and it makes him angry, even though the source of what must be beyond a single person’s worth of fluids is absent. Yet the voice is definitely coming from this room – no longer speaking, it merely whines in pain, pitiful and needy. Alfred doesn’t risk calling out, not yet, so he continues to move cautiously forward, as quietly as he can manage.

Most of the blood is dried or drying, but as he turns a corner towards a darker section of the room, his shoes start to stick to the floor. A lamp beckons him to turn it on, and cautiously he does, blinking at the sudden rush of light.

And there – slumped against one wall, almost as if thrown at it, discarded, is – _was_ \-- a human. He doesn’t move, although his eyes are open and lifeless, staring at nothing. His expression seems almost relieved, however, as if death was welcomed – for although he is quite obviously dead, it seems obvious that he suffered before his body failed. His skin looks clammy, his clothes stained darkly in his own fluids, and he does not breathe; though nor does he have the appearance of a vampire, or the shaking agony of one recently inflicted with the curse.

                Alfred swallows as he glances down beside the body’s feet. There… the source of the noise, that pained voice; it’s a recording, looped in a continuous playback. A trap.

Alfred glances back over his shoulder, checking the light from the far window – which now shows only dull illumination as the last dregs of sunlight dissipate – and freezes.

 

                In the doorway he walked through earlier is the vampire.

He hadn’t even noticed his presence. He simply stands in place, completely still and with the eerie silence of a statue. Only his eyes indicate that this is not so, sporting a sinister luminescence as they watch him closely. How long has he even been there? Just a shadow in the dark hallway, blocking his way out; a lean, imposing form, with lips that only faintly twitch up in a manner Alfred feels distinctly unsettled by.

He steps back instinctively and hears the crunch of the recording device underfoot.

 

                “I see my little toy ensnared you.” The words are spoken in a smooth, almost silken tone, and Alfred is both repulsed and drawn to it. The vampire’s eyes flicker to the corpse beside him. “Bait can be somewhat useful, after all.” When Alfred doesn’t speak, he adds, “quiet, aren’t you? Did one of my brethren cut out your tongue?”

                Alfred scowls. “As if they’d live to tell the tale.” A smirk greets him in response, and the vampire takes one deliberate step into the room.

                “It took you quite a time to find me. I almost thought you weren’t capable.” Another step. “Yet, now that we meet, I find you can only offer me bluffs.” The vampire’s form is easier to see now – he’s dressed in formal clothing from a past era, such as a fitted waistcoat and a long, dark coat. His features are of that same smooth elegance that all vampires possess, merely emphasising what was already there as a human – and he seems to have been a handsome one, in some measure. His eyes, a sharp piercing green, are set beneath thick brows which in any other person at any other time, Alfred may have felt the need to joke about. His hair, a dusty blond that settles in a dishevelled manner atop his head, is the only thing about him that does not display prominent perfection, in some form or another. He’s drawn out of his staring when the vampire continues.

“So far, I’m disappointed. You fell for my trap rather easily. I can almost _smell_ the inexperience.” The vampire’s lips curl up again, and Alfred steels himself.

                “I’ve trained enough to fell _you._ ” He bluffs, willing with all his being that he actually does have it in him.

                Cold laughter is his only response, as the vampire stalks towards him. Alfred fumbles in his pockets quickly. _Where is it, where is it—_

“Aha!” He brandishes the crucifix at the beast, his hand shaking slightly as he attempts to keep it steady. “In the name of—“ He’s cut off by his own pained cry as something hard impacts with his wrist. The flaring pain causes him to drop it, and before he can register what this means, the vampire has thrown him against a wall. He impacts with it heavily, his breath slammed out of him; making it a struggle to get back onto his feet. As he manages to, he notices the vampire right before him, unperturbed.

                “I will give you two rare gifts. First, my name.” Those green eyes grow closer to him as the creature leans forward, and in a crisp English accent, announces, “Arthur Kirkland.”

                For the rest of his life, Alfred fears he will never forget that name. Not merely because he’s in such a dire situation, but also because he’s heard that name before. Kirkland. _Arthur_ Kirkland. His family have been trying to defeat him for generations, occasionally getting close, only to fail spectacularly every time. It was almost as if he’d been playing a game with them all these centuries, and now he’d decided to trap one – Alfred. A prize, or a taunt to his fellow hunters that he could take one of their number – he wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur knew who he was; it would be a return stake to the heart for his family, for his mother with all those of Arthur’s kind that she’d slain. Revenge. It was just his luck, for Alfred knew full well that he wasn’t a match for _him_.

                Regardless, he tries. In a movement that’s become instinctive by practise, Alfred unclasps the top of his holster and pulls free the implement within. It’s a take on the old ‘stake’ tradition, though he personally would have preferred a gun with ‘blessed bullets’ or simply a large vial of holy water. This sentiment is especially true when his lunge at the vampire goes quickly askew, resulting not in the creature being wounded enough for Alfred either to escape unharmed or be able to overpower him, but instead in his arm being pinned back against the wall, and the sensation of a foot hitting his leg with enough force that the resulting _crack_ comes as no surprise. He yells out again, the pain shooting through him, followed by more of his own screams as the fingers still clutching his weapon are individually broken, in calculating slowness. The weapon drops uselessly to the floor, but at this point he doesn’t even notice.

               

                The next few minutes are full of nothing but agony, as Alfred is granted a brief respite to slump down against the wall, biting so hard on his lip that he soon tastes his own blood, mingling with the smell from the remnants of the corpse that still occupies the room.

                “Silly,” the vampire – Arthur -- sneers, kneeling to his level with more dignity than Alfred cares to appreciate.

“How silly of you to think that you could overpower _me_. Was that merely a desperate attempt at life, I wonder?” He sounds like he doesn’t care either way, regarding Alfred with a vague indifference. Alfred only blinks and grunts in return, trying to focus his swarming mind.

“I believe it’s time for me to get what I wanted, before you cease being conscious enough to appreciate it,” Arthur taunts a moment later, reaching forward and tilting Alfred’s head up. He tries to struggle, but part of him is almost resigned to whatever happens next. Perhaps he was right, when he was a child and thought he wasn’t cut out for this. He’d wanted to be an ‘explorer’, or as close to that ideal as he could get, but what else could he be than what he was now in _his_ family?

                Alfred barely registers when his shirt collar is unbuttoned and parted, nor the surprisingly warm breath upon his neck, only reacting at the sharp sensation of fangs penetrating the skin of his neck. He whimpers without meaning to, and finds an oddly gentle hand keeping his head still. The calm of this sensation doesn’t last, however, for gradually he feels himself begin to heat up, his blood seeming to flare like spices in his veins, pinpricks that course through his entire body, until even his pain is a dull background sensation in the wake of it. He finds it hard to speak, so he whines instead, not caring how damned pitiful the sound comes out as without accompanying words. His body trembles slightly, unbidden, and with his uninjured hand he grasps the fabric of Arthur’s shoulder.

                Arthur lifts his head from his throat, and Alfred notes the way his lips glisten slightly, droplets of red leaving small trails down to his chin from the sides of his mouth. He’s still reeling from the experience when Arthur presses his lips firmly against his, smearing his own blood against and into his mouth. He can taste it, as he can taste the heat of Arthur’s body, as if warmed from drinking from him. A moment later, and the lips are gone, once more at his neck, drawing more of his life-force from him. Alfred squirms, panting at the depth of sensations that spark up within him, until he jerks suddenly at an unexpected touch to his crotch. From a mix of instinct and the overwhelming surge of conflicting senses and thoughts, he finds himself pressing into the hand instead of rejecting it, and despite the increasing dizziness in his head, he starts breathing heavily for another reason, feeling himself react beneath the vampire’s hand. It’s a good thing he can hardly feel his broken leg or fingers right now, a small part of his mind reminds him, for he doubts this would be anywhere near as pleasant otherwise.

                Arthur’s mouth lifts from his neck again just before Alfred’s vision begins to darken, and with furious blinking he forces it to focus again. That mouth is back on his once more, a tongue pressing in and against his own, whilst that hand squeezes the growing bulge in his trousers, eliciting an unbidden moan. All he can taste is that deep iron tang and Arthur, who presses against him, drawing him possessively closer with his other hand, as if keeping his prey close. It’s all he can do to respond, feeling both too figuratively and physically drained to do much else. There’re teeth biting slightly at his lower lip, with that first hand rough against his body, and the heat still aflame in his veins.

                Then the lips are gone again, and both hands lower him to the ground, before the vampire pulls up the sleeve of one of his own arms. Pale skin greets Alfred’s eyes, and even behind the frames of his glasses his vision seems slightly blurred. He can still make out the scene before him though, as Arthur cuts a slit across his wrist with a sharp, almost taloned finger, and presses the bleeding wound flush against Alfred’s mouth.

“My second gift,” comes that smooth voice once more, and though every single thing that Alfred’s been taught refuses this, tells him that he should choose death over the undeniable repercussions of accepting the vampire’s offer… he drinks instead.

                It’s hard at first, for this goes against every human instinct he has, almost retching at the taste of another’s blood – but he forces himself through it, clamping his lips around the wound and predominately lapping it into his mouth with his tongue. Arthur is smiling out of the corner of his eyes, and he huffs out a startled breath through his nose as that hand presses against his crotch again. His eyes flicker closed as his trousers are undone, and soon enough there’s a cooling hand against his cock, warm enough still to not be unpleasant, squeezing around his length and pumping it along to every swipe of his tongue. The rhythm is addictive, and he bucks slightly up as he sucks a little harder at Arthur’s wrist. His actions are rewarded, for the hand moves faster, causing sparks of euphoria that would make his toes curl, were it not that they currently felt strangely numb. He murmurs odd little sounds, his earlier repulsion to Arthur’s blood long gone as he drinks freely.

                The hand on his cock deviates slightly from the established pattern, upping the sensations by alternating touches – one moment it lingers a while at his tip, squeezing, the next it deliberately brushes his balls and makes them tingle. Steadily, Alfred finds the sensations increasing in intensity, both inside and out, until at last his body can take no more, bringing him to a blinding climax that causes his body to stiffen and quiver in strong waves, his teeth reflexively biting down upon Arthur’s wrist.

                While Arthur calmly extracts his arm and rolls down his sleeve over the already healing wound, Alfred is left panting uncontrollably, sticky and spotted in his and Arthur’s fluids. The vampire makes no move to pleasure himself, and Alfred suspects -- in a vague, sense-retaining section of his mind -- that as everything has so far been under the vampire’s control, the other is not going to put himself in the same vulnerable position so easily. His thoughts don’t linger on this for long though, as soon he’s preoccupied with the slow sensation of an acid-like burning in his veins; not unbearable but unable to be ignored. It starts in his throat, and like warm liquid it seems to seep down into him, spreading gradually throughout his body – the vampire’s blood, no doubt, taking effect.

                Arthur stands in a single graceful movement, brushing himself off despite having no need to do so.

“I invite you to find me once it’s over, _hunter_.” He takes a step back, and with no further words but a lingering sly grin, he strides from the room as if he were never there.

                Vaguely, as Alfred’s mind adjusts itself to its fate, he wishes he could apologise to Matthew.


End file.
